


curled once about the house and fell asleep

by bluebeholder



Series: One and the Same [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Minor Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age), cat doing cat things, not the focus of the fic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Autumn, 9:37 DragonSimply a day in the life of the cat who started the whole story.
Relationships: Anders & Original Cat Character, Fenris & Original Cat Character
Series: One and the Same [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654444
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	curled once about the house and fell asleep

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of a group of mini-oneshots I'm working on, but Libertas just INSISTED on getting more words than anyone else. So here we are! Enjoy :)

Mornings here are quite different than they were in Kirkwall. Quieter, for one, without the creaking of wind and clamor of the streets. Slower, too, without a need for Anders to drag himself out of bed and attend to his clinic, or for Fenris to rise and get to whatever job he had that day.

Libertas quite likes it.

She wakes in the nest she made of Anders’ coat last night and stretches luxuriously. A bit of light seeps in the narrow window, letting her easily see the sleeping figures of Anders and Fenris in their bed. Libertas watches them for a bit, feeling immensely fond. It pleases her to see them at peace like this.

After a bit she sits up with another stretch to give herself a morning grooming. As the light strengthens, Libertas indulges in a little philosophical musing. How funny it is, that she’s utterly abandoned the name the street cats of Kirkwall gave her. “Free-Spirited Feathertail,” it had been, and the toms said it with awe and the queens with fondness. The housecats had never given Libertas the time of day. She didn’t remotely mind. And she’d always kept herself apart from the street cats, too, just as her protector-fathers kept apart from the people around them.

Her fellow cats scoffed at her affection for them. Not cats? Why would she bother? Libertas had, when very young, tried to explain that they were kind to her when she was small, and had cared for her just as queens care for kittens, but had only had laughs in return. So she’d given up on them all and stuck to Fenris and Anders.

Of course, she knows that they are the two-legged equivalent of tomcats, and it’s not at all unusual for two toms to take up with each other. But these two act like queens with kittens around the people. They aren’t teaching anyone to _walk_ , but many of the Fade-touched here are learning to navigate the world with the wide-eyed wonder of a kitten all the same. They claw each other sometimes, but less and less as they learn one another’s habits and scents. Anders and Fenris watch them while they do, and worry over them when they can’t hear. Just as they’d watched and worried when she was small.

Libertas had tried out cat names for them—Wolf-Eyes and Spirit-Singer—but those never seemed to stick. After all, they are not cats. Anders is very good at pretending, but he lacks a certain _essence_. And Fenris, for all his catlike grace, is too noisy. Not cats. But very, very dear.

She is hungry, but also in the mood to play, after her philosophical morning. Libertas hops up on the bed, but neither man stirs. She stares at them expectantly, but they are making no sign that they’ll notice her. Arms too wrapped around each other, perhaps.

A little claw should do it. Fenris’ foot is out from under the blanket. Libertas gives it a light scratch, then another. And a cross mew.

He makes a sound, disentangling himself from Anders’ arms and sitting up a bit, rubbing his eyes and scowling. “Libertas! No!”

Libertas glares at him. Well, then! _He’ll_ be like that and _she’ll_ be gone.

She leaps down from the bed and goes out the open door with her tail held high.

Her first order of business is to stop at the stable and have a chat with the oxen and the cow. Talking with creatures whose lives so revolve around grass and the weather and the coming and going of men and plows is a little odd, but Libertas feels affection for them. Were she a great legendary griffon, she might have eaten them—as it is, she merely chats a bit and has a good roll in the straw. She sits where they can see her, and lets the most affectionate ox lick her even though it leaves her a bit sticky.

Next on the list are the chickens. A nervous bunch, four hens brought from a nearby town just a few days ago, who strut and peck in the courtyard. They keep a nice distance from Libertas, though she is polite to them. All parties are quite aware that she has the teeth and claws to eat them if she wanted; as it is, she has appointed herself their protector, and when they inform her of a mouse taking up residence in the small henhouse, she cheerfully deals with the problem.

The mice here are very different than the mice in Kirkwall—not as plump and a bit smaller, but tasting much better, and one makes a very fine breakfast.

By the time all this is done, everyone is up and about. They are about their chores and Libertas is quite glad that her only duty is to catch mice and keep them out of places they ought not to be. She spends most of her morning hunting around the kitchen and in the upper floors of the castle, catching several more mice. And a few lizards, equally delectable.

Looking out a window and down into the fields, Libertas spots the darting shape of a small animal that might be a rabbit, but runs much faster. She had never gotten the hang of rabbit-hunting in Kirkwall, as there weren’t enough to justify the work; perhaps here she’ll take up the challenge. It would be an interesting diversion at least.

One of the lizards Libertas leaves on Anders’ pillow, cheerfully hoping he appreciates this one. He doesn’t complain like Fenris does when she leaves gifts for him, at least. It’s something.

Fenris’ small Fade-touched friend Lea finds Libertas on her way through the hall and Libertas happily stops to be petted. She likes Lea. Unlike the boys, she does not try to pull Libertas’ tail or ears.

“Hello, kitty,” Lea says, scratching Libertas on the head and then under the chin. Libertas purrs happily, rubbing against her legs. “Where are you off to? Adventure, I bet.”

Libertas meows with amusement. Adventure? She thinks not! It’s too late in the day for that.

Of course, Lea doesn’t understand. “You are such a _nice_ kitty,” she says, giving more chin scratches. “Much nicer than the one in the Circle.”

Well, Libertas can’t quite speak to that. It’s nice to be flattered, anyway.

She’d have gone off on her own, but one of the Fade-touched women calls for Lea and, apologetic, the small girl runs off to do whatever chore she’s neglected. Libertas watches her go, and decides that such energetics can wait. She would rather have a nap.

The room full of machines—a “loom” for weaving clothes and two spinning wheels which, Libertas hears, will be making enough thread for a thousand toys—is quiet enough. One Fade-touched woman is there, but she only gives Libertas a small pat and lets her get to the important business of napping. The room is quiet, and very warm, and the window faces the sun just perfectly. A pool of sunlight lies warm on the floor and Libertas decides to take her nap there.

For a long while, she merely snoozes. The sun moves across the floor; Libertas moves with it. It’s pleasant and warm, the clicking of the spinning wheel encouraging only deeper sleep, and deeper dreams.

Other cats tell of dreams of chasing mice, of warm nests, of high places, of catlike things. Libertas has those, of course. But she also has other dreams, strange dreams, of places she has never been. A stone castle deeper and stronger than this one, a rocking ship at sea, a dusty tower, an endless city of marble: all drenched in eerie green, with no one inside. Well—usually, anyway. Once, she met a handsome orange tabby tom while wandering that stone castle. He called himself “Pounce” and was very polite, asking after Anders’ health, insisting that they were old acquaintances. Libertas was reasonably sure he was a demon, but he was a _nice_ demon.

Oh, yes, cats dream of demons. Libertas has heard the Fade-touched here theorize on who attracts demons, and why, and wishes she could tell them of cats! Demons, especially pride and rage demons, _like_ cats. Cats are wise and clever and can go many places unseen. Cats are also, if Libertas does say so herself, quite intelligent. Most cats won’t deign to let a demon near them. Least of all she!

Eventually the sun fades from the window and Libertas decides her nap is over. Duty calls: she must be off to deal with more mice. The onslaught is endless and she is the only guardian between the castle and disaster.

Libertas skirts the wall, repairs recently completed, watching the practice in the courtyard. The grumpy woman who never pets her leads exercises in magic. This is no place for a cat. The kitchen, however, is. Just now it’s empty, letting her stalk and catch an invading lizard without interruption. A challenge, but not enough. After a thoughtful moment, she looks at the closed cellar door. There will certainly be prey down there.

Unfortunately, no one has come by. So Libertas sits down beside the door and begins to yell, meowing for someone with hands to open the dratted thing. It takes far too long but at last Maris, who always gives Libertas treats with a wink, arrives.

“What do you want, little friend?” she asks, petting Libertas with a fragile old hand. Maris is far too old for Libertas to scratch and play with, but she is the nicest besides Anders and Fenris.

Libertas mews again, trotting around the cellar door.

Maris laughs. “Is that why you’ve been shouting loud enough for them to hear you outside?” she asks. “Very well, little friend.” And she hauls open the cellar door.

The smell is distasteful. Libertas perches on the edge of the stairs for a moment, sniffing at it. A mouse or two might be down there—but there’s also other less pleasant smells, like mud and _dead_ mice. Another day, perhaps.

She turns and wanders away. There will be other mice, maybe in the storeroom. Behind her, Maris sighs, laughs again, and closes the cellar door.

Indeed there are mice in the storeroom, a veritable plague. Libertas enjoys one for a snack, but it occurs to her that they’ll be preparing dinner in the kitchen now, and there is a good chance of scraps if she is clever. Which she is.

As she reenters the kitchen, Libertas twitches her tail in excitement. Is that the smell of pickled olives? Fenris used to eat them in Kirkwall and let her have some of the juice, until Anders told him to stop. “They’re not _healthy_ ,” he said. Libertas would beg to disagree.

Gracefully, Libertas leaps up onto the long table, announcing her presence with a meow.

“The cat is here,” Johann says dryly. He’s one of the Sun-Bearing ones. They are much calmer than the others, and speak evenly, and do not smile, but they also don’t tease Libertas or pet her when she does not wish it.

“Of course,” Anders says, looking up from where he works kneading bread dough with his sleeves rolled up. “She must have smelled the olives. Don’t let her have any.”

Don’t let her—why, Libertas will just show him!

She leaps elegantly over an empty bowl and (clearly without hurrying) goes to stand by Johann, where he is holding a small jar of green olives. She looks up at him and mews. He looks back, quite unimpressed. “No.”

Libertas rubs her head against his hand, a strategy no one can resist.

“You are a very stubborn creature,” Johann observes. He scratches her head lightly. “But you are banned from it.”

Time for the last effort. She bats at the jar with a paw, rising on her hind legs to try to simply stick her face in the delicious olives. Surely Johann won’t—

He puts the lid on.

Libertas glares at him, then at Anders. Of all the insults! How dare they? She turns, ears flat, and trots back down the table. This time, instead of jumping over the bowl, she makes sure to give it a good push and knock it straight off the table.

It makes a satisfying clatter, so Libertas shoves another off, too, and a small bundle of onions. A put-upon sigh from Johann and an offended noise from Anders are her rewards as she jumps back off the table. See if she comes back to keep them company in the kitchen again!

Quite discouraged, she wanders back up to the room she shares with Anders and Fenris. Anders’ coat is there, of course, but Libertas would much rather curl up on the bed. The lizard is gone—a good sign. She snuggles down on Fenris’ pillow and closes her eyes, just enjoying a good nap.

But she must have slept longer than expected, because the next thing she knows, she’s being picked up. Libertas struggles a moment before realizing that it’s Fenris. She twists around, wriggling, until she can put her paws on his shoulder and rest her chin there. He likes holding her like that.

“Since she was a kitten,” he says fondly, stroking her back and sitting down on the bed.

Anders sounds as if he’s smiling. “She got up to _mischief_ today. Sticking her face in olive jars, trying to get into the cellar…”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Fenris says. He kisses the side of her head. Libertas purrs, so he can hear how happy she is. She purrs louder when Anders gives her a good scratch on the back, leaning in to kiss Fenris. It’s very nice.

And even nicer, Libertas thinks when she curls up on Anders’ chest when the lights go out, that she’ll get to do it all over tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Thanks to adrift_me for all the details about Cat Life, and to the rest of you for putting up with my detour back through my Warriors days.


End file.
